As the Sun Rises
by Lots-of-Little-Pink-Clouds
Summary: After refusing an offer to be killed out of mercy, a hunter lies broken and battered, yet victorious. However, as the moon hangs low and the sky darkens, he is washed with a wave of nostalgia and fear. Powerless, he can only pull himself forwards towards the approaching light, wondering what it might want with him. EDIT: Changed name to Lots-of-Little-Pink-Clouds so if anyone asks


**Author:** PoisonedChuugoku

 **Title:** As the Sun Rises

 **Rating:** T

 **Summary:** After refusing an offer to be killed out of mercy, a hunter lies broken and battered, yet victorious. However, as the moon hangs low and the sky darkens, he is washed with a wave of nostalgia and fear. Powerless, he can only pull himself forwards towards the approaching light, wondering what it might want with him.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Bloodborne, nor any of its characters.

* * *

 _ **As the Sun Rises**_

"The night, and the dream, were long…"

The old hunter's scythe fell from his grasp, landing in the patch of white flowers that surrounded them. Gehrman let out one final sigh before slumping over onto the ground beside him. The red of his blood painted the beautiful flowers a nasty red.

The hunter's breath came in the form of shuddering gasps, hand still clenched around the rod of his spear, the top of which was still stuck within his former mentor's abdomen. His knuckles, white from pressure, slowly loosened from its hold around the weapon before finally letting go. Gehrman's body shifted slightly as the spear dug in deeper, more blood dripping from the wound as a result.

He sat up, wincing, and with bandaged eyes, looked down at the fallen hunter beside him.

The fight had been long and difficult, one that he hadn't been sure he would actually win. He honestly didn't expect any less from Gehrman, a man who he had grown to greatly respect and admire. It had been especially close once the old man had knocked him to the ground after a perfectly timed visceral attack; he grimaced, hand coming to touch the still bleeding hole in his chest. He could feel the thick liquid stain his gloved fingers, coating them in red.

Raising his hand up into the sky, he could barely make out the bloody red that dribbled down his hand and into his jacket's sleeve from behind his bandaged eyes. The light of the moon, still that odd paleblood colour, hung low in the false sky, making the blood shine and glimmer strangely, abnormally. He could hear the sound of the burning workshop, the flames eating away at the wood. Even now, the distant sound of crackling cinders echoed, almost as if in mourning.

It was strange that the building hadn't burnt down. But then, he reminded himself, this was called the Dream for a reason.

There was a sound, a thrumming sound. It resounded quietly, yet he could hear it growing louder and louder. A tiny bell, clanging quietly due to an nonexistent wind. Its crescendo was soft, almost completely silent, yet in his ears, it was loud. It was a noise of which he was intimately familiar with.

Immediately, he stiffened. The light of the moon, that bloody, bloody, paleblood moon, that he could barely make out from behind bandaged eyes was coming closer, growing brighter, its resounding bell toll blaring in his ears. He could make out its coiled tentacles and glowing white eyes. And as the being approached, the moon took its light away, darkening the sky. It was then he realized that the being, the Great One, _was_ the light, the very moon itself.

And it was descending, coming towards him.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him. The very presence of one of those celestial beings he had learned about was otherworldly, breathtaking, awe inspiring. However, it was accompanied by fear and suspicion. It was obviously much larger than he was, its tentacles almost seemingly part of the sky itself, and as such, took the light and the stars away once it descended. Many of the other Great Ones he had encountered had also been this way.

Yet, there was something different about this one.

This one had an oldness to it, a feeling of age and ancientness. There was something in the air, a tightness that the hunter could feel. It made it hard to breathe (minus the fact that he was still, technically, bleeding out from the wound Gehrman gave him), and he found himself struggling to remain sitting up. His arms were becoming weak, his eyes becoming heavy, his head weighing down on him. Wouldn't it be better to just rest? To just go to sleep? To never wake, die, even?

' _No,'_ he thought, _'I didn't come… this far… to die now.'_

He opened his eyes, coming across a curious sight. The being was above him, sitting back on its hind legs and just watching him. Its multiple eyes blinked at different times, its head tentacles swirling behind it. In its talons were the bandages that had covered his eyes, the ones he used to block the sights of the beasts and creatures that had once been hidden. He hadn't even felt it remove them.

He slowly blinked, wondering. _'What is it doing?'_

The bandages slowly dropped from its hands, the thin bloody sheets fluttering before settling on the flowered ground below it. Its head tilted, regarding him, bloody and broken. He swallowed, his dry throat itching. The anxiety was starting to kick in: What could it possibly want? Why is it just staring at him? Is it going to kill him? Should he do something? His rifle spear was right next to him, albeit still stuck in Gehrman's corpse, but maybe if he's quick enough…

A small chime.

He flinched as the talons came for him, wrapping around his much smaller form and lifting him into the air. The hold was surprisingly gentle. It brought him closer to its face as if trying to examine him better. He squirmed in its grasp, easily getting his arms free. He couldn't do much, but frankly, he didn't want to get squeezed to death, thank you very much.

Another chime.

He looked up to the creature that held him. Its mouth gaped open slowly, a strange form of a smile, teeth large and glinting. It chimed again, clicking its tongue. He licked his lips nervously, glancing down, around, but never looking at the thing. It held him a bit higher, up to the sky, still clicking. He began to squirm once again, frowning, breath heavy.

"C-Can you put me down?"

It tilted its head quizzically at his question. Then, that strange smile spread across its face and it clicked its tongue, bringing him close. Then, to his puzzled horror, it began to rub its face against his own. It was _nuzzling_. The chiming was back, to which he realized in slight panic that the sound was of it _purring_.

"W-What do you want? Why-?"

It brought him close to its chest, one clawed hand reaching up to pat his head, and continued to chime. The thing began to rock back and forth, crooning and petting him. It was almost as if he was a newborn babe being cradled by his mother. Yet, even though he found it odd and admittedly, he should probably be disgusted, it was strangely comforting. Already he could feel his eyes becoming heavy, the exhaustion that had come from fighting Gehrman suddenly hitting him like a stone wall.

He struggled to blink, to remain awake. Yet the Great One's chiming purrs soothed something deep in his heart, the urge to fight perhaps? Or did it just want him to rest? To sleep? To dream? He couldn't think.

The hunter's eyes closed, exhaustion overcoming him, falling asleep to a Great One's chimes.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

As the moon returned to the sky, the flames on a burning workshop died down. The building remained untouched, unaffected by the damage that had been afflicted upon it. Within the building was a hunched form.

The man appeared to be sitting in a wheelchair, fast asleep. His eyes were bandaged, blindfolding him, hiding the rest of the world from his damaged eyes. Beside the man sat a plain doll, her artificial hands clasped over his own. Glancing out one of the workshop's many windows, she heard the distinct sound of someone, a new hunter, arriving to the dream. She softly sighed.

"And so, the hunt begins."

* * *

 **Marc Anthony**

 _Covenant:_ Hunter of Hunters

 _Nickname(s):_ Anthony; "Moon-Scented Hunter" (by Queen Annalise); "Good Hunter" (by the Plain Doll)

 _Original Novel Name:_ The Hunter

 _Age:_ 37

 _Gender/Sexuality:_ Male/Heterosexual

 _Relationships:_ The Moon Presence (Surrogate Parent); The Plain Doll (Surrogate Mother); Eileen, The Crow (Mentor); Gehrman, The First Hunter (Mentor); Gilbert (Friend); Chapel Samaritan (Friend); Arianna (Friend); Iosefka (Love Interest)

 _Eye Colour:_ Dark Blue

 _Hair Colour:_ Black

 _Signature Weapon:_ Rifle Spear/Hunter Pistol; later the Burial Blade

 _Signature Traits:_ Has a harsh Scottish accent; (later) licks lips when nervous; (later) covers his eyes with bandages

 _Role Significance:_ Primary Protagonist

 _Character Description:_ A born specialist, Anthony is an outsider who journeyed to Yharnam in search of a cure for his incurable disease. Upon arriving, however, he was forcibly conscripted into the Hunt and is told to seek a mysterious substance called "Paleblood" in order to transcend it.

On his quest, he met many different individuals and felt many different emotions; happiness, hope, and very possibly, love. However, as the night drew on and the sun threatened to never rise again, Anthony felt himself succumbing to the Scourge as hope was snatched away from him due to the rising death toll. As a result, he began to see things that an ordinary person might not see.

At first it was bearable, however, it wasn't long before the effects of it became apparent: his eyes would dart around in paranoia, he would lick his lips whenever he was nervous, he could never keep still. Once the nightmarish creatures that had been hidden finally revealed themselves, Anthony concluded that it would be easier to be blind, if only to be able to bear it.

But even then, the beasts find ways to show him the very things he doesn't wish to see…


End file.
